


mercy and torment, all the sweeter

by PandaFlower



Category: Naruto
Genre: Aftercare, Cock Warming, For Science!, M/M, Mid-Care, Smut, but he likes it! :D, just as important that, not gonna lie, this is probably more than a little evil to Madara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaFlower/pseuds/PandaFlower
Summary: Tobirama had discovered a curious side effect to giving his lover head, one he’s rather eager to exploit to his advantage.





	mercy and torment, all the sweeter

“You sure you don’t want some water?” Madara asked.

Tobirama grunted negatively, shifting around on the cushion until it didn’t feel like his knees were digging into the ground. He wanted to be _ comfortable _ for this, he planned to be here a while. For as long as Madara could stand it, or until his jaw got too sore to continue, whichever came first.

Tobirama had discovered a curious side effect to giving his lover head, one he’s rather eager to exploit to his advantage. 

“Alright, if you’re sure.” A gloved hand cupped the back of his head, ruffling the short hair. “Cup’s on the desk if you change your mind.”

Tobirama grunted again in acknowledgement, feeling the Uchiha twitch at the vibration. Vague interest stirs at the reaction, and he sticks a mental pin in it with a notation to explore it later. Initial experiment first.

Madara’s cock is a warm, welcome weight on his tongue, filling his mouth, heavy with the taste of salt and clean skin and smeared pre-cum. It’s a comfortable size like this. The wiry little curls at the base tickle his nose, sliding loosely when Tobirama runs fingers through them, rubbing them against thin, sensitive skin. Madara’s hips tremble a bit under Tobirama’s hands, still a bit sensitive from recent orgasm. 

Tobirama let the cock rest in his mouth, courteously refraining from moving his tongue much. If he ended the experiment early by accidentally teasing Madara while he was still too sensitive he’d only have himself to blame, and he was banking quite a bit of dignity on this hypothesis. The first time he worked himself to tingling, electric orgasm with his mouth on Madara’s cock, he hadn’t paid too much attention at first, too busy enjoying the lassitude in the aftermath before being thoroughly distracted by a sudden epiphany about his then latest stalled project. But the _ second _ time.

The second time he noticed.

As soon as he hit that warm, relaxed, loose-limbed state, mind blissfully blank and thoughts just beginning to trickle back in, all the little knots percolating in the back of his mind suddenly unwound themselves into brilliant clarity. 

Since Tobirama was just as addicted to presenting solutions to problems as he was to sex with Madara this unexpected unity of the two _ delighted him. _

He resisted the urge to hum in anticipation.

Soon. 

* * *

Madara found heaven and hell in Tobirama’s mouth. Not that he usually didn’t, mind. But this—

This was a special kind of purgatory.

Madara gripped the edge of the desk with no little desperation, mind refusing to focus on the paperwork he was trying to complete. He’s been stuck on the same seven lines for the last five minutes now, skipping like a broken record, because. Because— 

Tobirama made a thoughtful noise around his cock, the tip of his tongue pressing into the vein on the underside and dragging back and forth ever. So._ Slightly. _

Madara stifled a whimper. 

He doesn’t— he’s _ trying _ to ignore the tantalizing little bits of stimulation as Tobirama forgets himself and gently worries at the cock while he’s deep in thought. This isn't. This isn’t _ about _ Madara right now, this is about helping Tobirama. Madara has control, and he will exercise that control, and he _ will not _ shoot up like a teenager.

Madara forces himself past the seventh line and promptly loses his train of thought again when a wet chill gently traced over his abdomen. The desk creaked under his grip. 

Tobirama made an inquisitive noise, a gentle vibration in the back of his throat that Madara more felt than truly heard through the sudden white noise in his ears. The hand holding up the scroll draped on Madara’s bare abdomen tapped at his ribs, asking for his attention.

_ Are you alright? _ Is the question in Tobirama’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” Madara choked out. “Just, paperwork. You know.”

Tobirama eyed him a second more before visibly brushing it aside with a roll of his eyes. Madara had gotten frustrated enough to accidentally damage his desk before when wading through some particularly choice bit of stupidity. Tobirama — _ probably _ — would accept that at face value.

This was… a whole different kind of frustration.

Madara represses a shudder as Tobirama goes back to making notes, the chill drag of chakra suspended ink seeping through the skin-warmed paper to bare skin, stomach muscles clenching at the almost ticklish sensation. He tries to go back to his own work but he can’t quite recall where he left of, the words swimming in his mind’s eye,and resigns himself to starting over. Again. Madara takes a shuddery breath, trying to keep calm, then has to take another as Tobirama draws his head back minutely, the flat of his tongue cupped against the underside of Madara’s cock, expression faintly bewildered at his notes.

_ Ah, _ Madara thought, almost managing to be solely fond, _ something went in an unexpected direction. _

Much like Madara’s afternoon.

Tobirama exhales sharply through his nose in annoyance, chilling what spit-slick skin escaped his mouth, then bobbed back down slowly, eyes narrowed. Madara goes back to desperately gripping the edge of the desk, gazing sightlessly at paperwork that was _ so _ not getting done anytime soon, damn it. He’s long since broken one of his brushes, thankful that the metal handle bending in his grip was far subtler than snapping wood.

Madara clenches his eyes shut and _ wills _ his thighs to relax. Tobirama couldn’t not notice he was more affected than he wanted to let on if he was all tensed up around him. He placed a finger on the first line of… whatever it was he was trying to look over. At the very least, maybe he’d stop losing his place.

A chill touch of some complicated character Madara could probably parse out by feel if he had the mental capacity to traced out around his navel. A shiver traveled up his spine, an almost sharp, bright judder gripping its way up Madara’s taut muscles and sending the nerves alight. Madara bit down on a curse, hunching forward a bit as if to escape it.

Tobirama hummed, and Madara froze. Madara held very still as Tobirama put his floating ink glob back in its bottle, gripped the end of the scroll with his now free hand, and pulled it sideways. 

The soft scroll paper _ dragged _ over skin gone hot and sensitive from returning arousal, going from body-warm to cold, making Madara shiver and hunch some more and— _ fuck, _ inadvertantly hunching low enough the upper edge caught on the pebbled skin of his nipples mid-drag, an achingly _ sharp _ sensation that had Madara straightening and trying not to gasp aloud, biting his lip.

The chill of ink returning, vivid through slowly warming paper as Tobirama traced out some kind of diagram. A slow winding spiral of a thing, interconnected circles of a gentle caress on his abdomen.

By this point, Madara’s refractory period was well over. He couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his cock if he tried.

And he’s trying. 

Okay, back to his work; attempt… however many since he last lost track. One line, two— fuck. Madara keeps his gaze fixed, Tobirama’s tongue having fluttered briefly. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, exhaling quietly, shakily. Third line, four, five, it’s even starting to penetrate the hazy arousal that this is about zoning law. He gets all the way to the end of the paragraph for the first time that afternoon when he thinks, _ alright, I can do this! _

Tobirama puts the ink down again. Madara braces.

Only, instead of adjusting the scroll, Tobirama braces a hand on Madara’s hip. 

_ Oh fuck, _ Madara thinks faintly, and then Tobirama shifts his weight. It starts with a small shift on his knees, hardly proper movement at all. Tobirama makes a disgruntled noise, tormenting Madara’s cock anew with more vibrations, and looks up, tapping at Madara’s ribs again.

“Yes?” Madara manages, hoping he doesn’t look as red and out of it as he feels.

Tobirama taps the top edge of the scroll and sends a meaningful glance to Madara’s arm. Because Madara is, unfortunately, not an idiot, he obligingly holds the scroll up for Tobirama while Tobirama plants both hands on Madara’s hips, gripping firmly and lifting up on his knees. All but the head of Madara’s cock slid out of his mouth while he readjusted his position, Madara tensing from the sudden tingles of warm, wet skin going cool. Madara felt pinned and helpless under those strong hands, that relentless, warm mouth that took and didn’t give. He never wanted it to stop.

Then Tobirama bobbed his head back down as he resettled, and that was it for Madara. 

Madara takes it back. He cannot do this.

He throws his head back, keening lowly, and the edge of the desk finally cracks in his fist.

Tobirama paused. Madara didn’t dare look down, too busy gasping, abdomen fluttering, as he wrestles himself back under some semblance of control.

And then Tobirama was pulling off entirely and Madara had no choice but to look at him, flushed bright from arousal and mortification.

“Um,” Madara said intelligently. He didn’t know what to say, really. _ Sorry I broke your concentration but you’ve been torturing me for the last half hour? _

“Could you pass me that cup of water?” Is what Tobirama asks. Mutely, Madara did.

Tobirama took his time, swishing water around his mouth first, then sipping carefully, massaging around the joints of his jaw. Madara reaches out to take that over for him, rubbing his thumbs firmly. Tobirama’s head lolls easily, trustingly, in his hands, a low groan trickling from his mouth as some of the tension is eased.

“Here,” Tobirama murmurs, passing him the cup. “Have some yourself.”

Madara muttered a quick thanks and quickly brought the cup up, all but hiding his face. But no sooner had he tipped it back was there a wet lick across the head of his cock and Madara jerked, splashing water up his nose and dribbling a little down his front, prompting him to pull the scroll away because _ Madara _ has a sense of courtesy, unlike _ some _ people.

“Tobirama!” he spluttered, hastily putting the cup down before he dropped it. And the scroll too for good measure. “What was that for? You almost ruined your own notes!”

Tobirama arched a brow, amusement ticking at the corners of his eyes. “It just seemed a little rude not to finish what I started.” He nodded at Madara’s now full erection bobbing in front of his face.

Madara buried his face in his hands, groaning. “I’m sorry, I was trying not to disturb you.”

Tobirama snorted a low laugh, patting his thigh. “It’s fine, Madara. I think if you didn’t get hard while I have my mouth on you there might be a problem.”

“I mean, true,” Madara managed a laugh of his own at that. Madara can’t imagine not being turned on by Tobirama’s everything. “You still did that to be an asshole though.”

“Oh, of course,” Tobirama agreed, smirking. “That’s my only motive for ever doing things, clearly. It’s not like you looked a little overheated or anything.”

Madara spluttered again. “Excuse me if I don’t find water up my _ nose _ to be particularly cooling! If I’m overheated it’s your fault— what are you doing?” Tobirama had risen up on his knees and plastered himself against Madara’s front, sly red eyes gazing at him from much closer all too abruptly. Those red eyes dipped to a drop of water beading down Madara’s chest, then caught Madara’s own gaze again as Tobirama licked it up before pressing his lips to damp skin, sucking a quick mark.

Madara gasped, hands flying to Tobirama’s hair.

“This was a very fruitful experiment, Madara,” Tobirama murmured. “_Very _ fruitful.” He kissed a spot below the mark. “You were so good for me.” 

Lower. 

“Letting me do what I wanted.” 

And lower. 

“I’m afraid I’ve hit another wall though.” 

That mouth was going to be Madara’s complete undoing, sucking another mark under his ribs. 

“And since the hallmark of good science is successful repetition—” Tobirama nipped the thin skin under his navel. Madara gasps, squirming in his seat. “And you’re already worked up…”

Tobirama _ smiled, _ teeth and teasing, and nuzzled Madara’s cock, pressing a sweet kiss to it. “Might as well start over.”

Madara whimpered.


End file.
